and she was there (all pink and gold and glittering)
by MCHammerfell
Summary: AU in which Finn is an asshole and Rachel is a little less high-strung. After a drunken fight, Rachel finds herself in Quinn's bed, in Quinn's clothes, with no recollection of the night. Fluffiness for you.


1.

Vodka has always a) burned your throat, and b) deprived you of your inhibitions. It's your fourth mixed drink that drives you to the back deck, away from the lights and loud, overbearing music and people. You don't know why you came to this party, why you're guzzling your fifth drink on Noah's deck at one in the morning-truthfully, you don't know why you're doing anything. You're engaged senior year, planning on giving up your lifelong dream of singing on Broadway for someone who has no idea what he's going to do with his life. Attending Noah's parties is becoming a frequent thing because honestly, the liquor helps you forget that you're going to be a housewife in ten years. You bring the plastic cup to your lips and take a long gulp, ignoring the burn in your throat and the terrible taste on your tongue. You down the whole cup, dramatically throwing it into the darkness. You have a thing for drama, you always have. The action comforts you. It's the first time you've truly been yourself in a little over a year.

The sound of the glass door sliding open and excited yells break your bubble of silence. Finn, Noah, and the rest of the jocks have decided it's a good idea to dive into the pool. In February. At two o'clock in the morning.

Your lips turn up in a smirk as Noah dives head first into the green, slimy, freezing water. You wait for his reaction, wait for his head to break the surface and his yell of disgust; however, when he reemerges, his head covered in moss and algae, he yells, "It's fucking cold!" instead of, "Oh, wait, I haven't cleaned my pool since July." You watch as the rest of the boys roar in some kind of brotherly fashion before following in Noah's footsteps. In less than thirty seconds, the entire football team is green and slimy.

"Idiots," you mutter, deciding it's time for another vodka-and-sprite-but-mostly-vodka, mixed by none other than Santana Lopez. You slip inside and make your way to the kitchen, fending off drunk boys (and a few girls) looking for some fun in something other than their drinks. Your lips curl in disgust and you practically run to the kitchen. Santana, however, isn't much better.

"Hey, hey, hey, Hobbit," she slurs, sloshing a bottle of Burnette's around, some of the liquid spilling to the floor. "I always wondered what Jew tasted like,"

"I'm drunk, but I'm not _that_ drunk, Santana," you reply, taking one of the plastic cups from the stack and pushing it towards the Latina, hoping she's heavy on the liquor and light on the Sprite.

"Damn _chica_, how much you drinkin'?" she asks, pouring in a generous amount of Burnette's. Her hands are shaky and she's obviously incredibly intoxicated. She ends up filling nearly half the cup with just alcohol and you almost wince.

"Enough," you answer, watching as her head slowly splits into two different heads. You're on your way to shit-faced wasted and it excites you. Her hands grasp the Sprite bottle firmly and she fills the rest of the cup, overfilling it slightly. She's always been Puck's second-in-command until she either gets too drunk or has an emotional breakdown. She's on her way to the former and you hope Puck comes back soon; you're feeling particularly shitty tonight, and falling into a stupor sounds like a wonderful idea.

"What's got you so daring, hobbit?" Her words are so jumbled you can barely decipher what she's saying.

"I just like to forget,"

Some time later, Puck and his friends reenter the house, dried slightly from the cool air outside. They're dyed green, and in your extreme intoxication you find yourself laughing like a maniac. You laugh until all the air in your tiny body is gone and your sides hurt. You fall on your ass and simply guffaw at the spectacle.

It takes you five minutes to realise what you're doing.

While you're somewhat embarrassed-you're on the ground, laughing like an idiot-you take notice to the fact that you're _laughing _like an idiot.

You haven't really laughed in nearly a year, and the action is liberating.

"Rach, why the hell are you on the floor?" Finn grunts, his ears tinged pink. He leans down and grabs your arm, looking around at the other party goers and chuckling uneasily. He's embarrassed, you realise, even though he looks like a waterlogged Shrek.

You yank your arm away hastily, throwing your other arm out to deter him. A silence falls over the room, the beat of the trashy music the only thing you can hear.

You slapped him. Hard, it seems, because he's cradling his cheek and his buddies all have their mouths open like idiots.

"Oops," you mutter, knowing you'll get so much shit for this once his shock settles and his anger rushes in. You brace for anything and everything he could do to you and wait.

Your engagement ring left a small gash in his cheek, the small diamond catching his skin and ripping it away. He turns to you and you can tell he's furious by the way his eye twitches minutely.

"Come outside," he seethes quietly. He doesn't want to make a scene.

"Okay,"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" He's yelling, throwing his hands around, and in your inebriated state he resembles a hairless gorilla. His face is red and there's still blood running down his cheek. The small diamond on your finger feels like a trophy now.

"I was laughing at you. You look like a stalk of celery," you answer plainly, watching him fade from one person to three and then one again. God, you're drunk.

"Do you know how embarrassing that is? It's bad enough you had to come, you had to go and fuck it up for me, too!"

You hate when Finn drinks because he's brutally honest. You've no idea why he insisted on getting married when he can barely stand being in the same room with you for more than a few minutes. You like to think he knows you're the best he could ever get, but maybe he just likes that you're small enough to hold like a trophy, like a prize for him.

"Why are you with me, then?" you spit, because you're genuinely curious and because you hope he regrets this conversation in the morning as a single man.

"Because all you'd do is bitch if I didn't bring you. All you do is nag,"

"Why are you with me, Finn? Why is there a cheap ring on my finger and why am I putting up with your infancy?" You've put it in the air now. You don't feel nearly as guilty as you thought you would. For everything you've given this manchild, all he's given in return is half-assed compliments and a lot of cheating.

His face contorts and he looks constipated. You know you've pissed him off now, but you can't bring yourself to care. You deserve to know why you're suffering through this relationship, why you even considered letting go of your biggest dreams to satisfy the ogre standing a few feet from you.

"I love you, stupid! I put that ring on your finger for a reason!"

"You think I'm property, Finn! I'm not a trophy you can just wear on your arm and dump when I actually speak,"

A vein in his temple flairs out, exposing itself.

You're both silent for a few moments, letting the cold air permeate you and calm you down. You shiver involuntarily and watch as he wraps his Letterman around himself tighter. It's a demonstration of your entire relationship in one stunted motion.

"I'm done with us," you say quietly, watching your breath puff into the air and dissolve. Your words are out now and you'd be damned before you took them back.

Finn grunts like he's been punched in the stomach. His eyes widen and you can tell you've hurt his ego more than you've broken his heart by the way his lip curls into a small snarl.

"What?" he demands, stepping closer to you. Your small hands curl into fists and you repeat yourself, louder this time, more justified.

"The fuck are you gonna do without me?" he growls, approaching you slowly.

"I don't know, be happy? Find someone who recognises I'm a person and _values that__?_"

"You don't deserve that shit!" he bellows, only a foot or two away from you now. "You're annoying and all you do is watch fucking plays all day! Do you know how hard it is to pretend to care about your stupid Broadway shit? And for the record, your huge Jew nose is _always_ gonna keep you off stage. I'm pretty sure the play writers like pretty people to do their shitty shows,"

Finn knows how to make it hurt, you concede. You fight back tears-_you were going to give him your life, idiot!-_and reply.

"Finn," you begin, and if you weren't drunk, you probably wouldn't be thinking the horrible things you are, but in this far-beyond-.08 stage you're in, all you want is verbal murder. "I refuse-_absolutely fucking refuse_- to be talked down to by a six-foot-five pile of gelatin with a brain that's actually smaller than his baby penis. If you want someone to discuss football plays with, why don't you go inside right now and profess your love for Noah? Surely he's better suited to your personality and his _Jew nose _isn't nearly as atrocious as mine. I'm going home, and when you wake up tomorrow, hopefully with a headache from Hell, I hope you miss me, because I want to watch you fall on your knees all over again, just like after you fucked Santana,"

You walk away, stumbling out onto the sidewalk, leaving a shell shocked Finn behind you as you find your way home.

2.

Your head is going to explode.

You swear to every god you can think of that this pain is the worst you've ever felt. How many drinks did you have last night?

One too many, you're sure. Your head is pulsing, the pain moving from one side of your head to the other like waves. You groan and move your hand to massage your temple, hoping for some relief.

"Good morning," comes softly from beside you. It's unmistakably husky and low and all-too-familiar. Oh, God.

Quinn Fabray is sitting cross-legged beside you, holding a glass of water and two small white tablets-Aspirin. Her hair is a little messy and she's not wearing make up. Even bare, she's stunning, you think, examining the slope of her neck and the way her lips are curled into a tiny smile. She's the most beautiful now, without a mask on. You blink a few times, realising you were accidentally _checking her out._

"Morning," you grumble. Your throat is raw and your voice is incredibly grainy, like you'd eaten sand last night. Quinn chuckles quietly and extends her hand, offering the Aspirin to you gracefully. You trace the light blue veins in her wrists all the way to her elbow with your eyes, following the curve of her bicep all the way to her shoulder and then her eyes. She's watching you and you blush, hiding your face in your arm.

Quinn Fabray in a tank top is a work of art and you must observe the masterpiece.

3.

Two Aspirin, two glasses of water, and an orgasmic shower later, you're sitting in Quinn's bed, legs tucked underneath you, waiting for Quinn to return with mint tea and an explanation as to how you got in her bed.

You run your hand through your damp hair, trying to recall the events of last night. You remember liquor, and Santana coming onto you, and Finn looked like the Green Giant and...

Finn.

Shit.

Your headache comes back full force. You remember the fight and the insults and the...

"Fuck," you curse, completely unlike yourself. You groan and rest your head in your hands.

You broke up with Finn.

"Mint tea with almond milk,"

Quinn's voice draws your attention to the door. She's wearing sweatpants and that damned tank top. Your eyes unconsciously drop to her exposed shoulders and slender arms and you squirm uncomfortably. She makes her way to the bed, smiling softly at you. She settles at the foot of her Queen-sized bed and mirrors your position, handing you a cup gently. Her hands are small and dainty and you wonder why the hell you've practically been checking the poor blonde out all morning.

"Thank you," you mutter, choosing to focus on your lap instead of her gorgeous eyes.

Get yourself together, you think. You've never paid this much attention to Quinn before.

Quinn hums in reply and sips her tea silently, watching you fiddle with the cup in your hands.

"How did I get here?" you blurt, meeting the girl's eyes cautiously. You and Quinn have never really been close, and the fact that you're in her house, in her bed, drinking her tea and wearing her clothes is rather odd.

Quinn chuckles and puts her cup down on the small bedside table, leaning back against the headboard comfortably.

"You don't remember?" she asks, placing one hand behind her head and one hand on her slightly exposed stomach. You swallow thickly and shake your head, paying attention to the blonde's ab contours in your peripheral vision. Quinn pushes her hair from her face and rests contently next to you.

"You came here on your own," she begins, smiling at you slightly. "You were very obviously drunk. You reeked, too, and you were yelling for me under my window,"

You blush. Leave it to you to drunkenly call for your kind-of friend in the wee hours of the morning. You nod meekly, encouraging the blonde to continue. She giggles and says, "You started quoting Romeo and Juliet, too. And then you demanded to be let inside," Quinn motions to you and continues. "Obviously I let you in. You ranted about Finn being an asshole and single and then you got sick in my bathroom and passed out. I put you in clean clothes and put you to bed. Here you are,"

You blush. Quinn put you in clean clothes. She stripped you down and saw you naked. Your whole body warms up at the thought.

You apologise for your drunkenness and bury your face in your hands, hiding from the blonde adjacent to you.

You chastise yourself for getting completely wasted and being such an idiot. Of all people to bother at three in the morning, it had to be Quinn Fabray, who you aren't even close with. You've not socialised in a while and you had no reason to come to her.

Although, if you're being completely honest, you've always felt a pull towards Quinn. On your wedding day, you'd felt a pang, like a dull ache in your chest. That was five minutes before the call came.

You've always believed you had a sixth sense, but maybe it was more of a Quinn-sense.

Maybe you and Quinn were a lot closer than you thought.

4.

"So, Finn and I are completely done?"

"According to your drunken rant, yes,"

The information hits you hard, but not in the way you expect. You should feel guilty for hurting him and for leaving him while inebriated; however, all you can think about is freedom. You're now officially your own woman, free of assholes and constant barely-disguised insults. You can pursue anyone you'd like, people who will treat you like a human being.

You're actually rather happy with your decision... until you notice all the missed calls and texts from Finn.

_Where r u_

_rachel answer the phone_

_wtf answer me_

_rachel ur being a bitch pick up the phone_

_i'm sorry about last night. answer the damn phone_

_37 Missed Calls_

And Finn said you were the clingy one.

5.

You end up staying with Quinn again, just because she offered and you really didn't want to leave. You guys watch movies and-at least in your mind-cuddled a bit. (You were only touching shoulders, but it was more comforting than any contact you'd had with Finn.)

It's around eleven at night when you find yourself falling asleep, your head on Quinn's shoulder and her arm around you. You've just finished the Lion King and Quinn is dozing a bit, too. When you shake her shoulder a bit and motion to lie down, she doesn't fight. In fact, in her drowsy state, she wraps her arm around you and pulls you down, nuzzling into your neck and sighing contently.

Your cheeks heat up and you freeze for a moment. Quinn is being very open, and you're sure it's just her being tired, but you snuggle closer and allow yourself to enjoy it anyway.

"Rachel?" Quinn mumbles, nuzzling your cheek with her nose.

"Hm?"

"I think you're really beautiful," It's barely audible, and you strain to hear it, but when you do, your face lights up like a menorah. Quinn, the most beautiful girl you know, just complimented you. Man Hands, Ru Paul, Dwarf... beautiful.

"Quinn?"

"Hm?"

"Thank you," You mean it from the bottom of your heart, and Quinn smiles sleepily. Her hand comes up to your hair and brushes it behind your ear, her fingers grazing your skin lightly. You shiver and your eyes flutter closed.

"Rachel?"

"Hm?"

Quinn hesitates, her fingers tracing your jawline gently.

"Can I kiss you?"

You nod, and she does. Softly, slowly, experimentally. Her lips are soft and taste like strawberries. You're kissing Quinn Fabray and it's heaven. She rests her hand in the crook of your neck and kisses you with more care than Finn ever could.

You sleep perfectly.

6.

You and Quinn wake up in each other's arms, and your first instinct is to kiss the blonde. You spend the morning lazing, watching movies, cuddling, and occasionally making out on every surface in the house. Your new-found feelings have yet to be discussed, but you can't complain with Quinn Fabray kissing you like you're her life source.

It takes you a while to discuss feelings, actually, and you don't mind. Whatever you are, you're perfectly content with it.

A/N: So, this took forever to write, and I feel it isn't very good, but I just had to get down some cuteness. Sleepy!Quinn should be a new thing. Feel free to leave me love, hate, unnecessary comments about your day, anything really. Although, as long as you made it through the fic, I'm alright.


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